Marie Adelaide Belloc Lowndes - What Timmy Did

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One of the envelopes was addressed in a clear, ordinary lady's hand; the
other, cheap and poor in quality, was in a firm, and yet unformed,
handwriting.

Enid glanced at the two elder ladies; they were talking together eagerly.
She walked over to the bow-shaped window, and opened the commoner
envelope:

Dear Madam,

I hope you will excuse me writing to tell you that my husband has had
to leave Mr. Winter's situation. Piper considers he has been treated
shameful, and that if he chose he could get the law on Mr. Winter. I am
writing to you unknown to Piper. If you could see me I think I could
explain exactly what it is I want Piper to get. There do seem a
difficulty now in getting jobs of Piper's sort, but from what he has
told me there were one or two other jobs you heard of that might have
suited him.

Yours respectfully,
Amelia Piper.

Enid Crofton stared down at the signature with a sensation of puzzled
dismay. _Piper married?_ This was indeed a complication, and a
complication which in her most anxious communings she had never thought
of. The man had always behaved like a bachelor--for instance he had
always made love to the maids. There also came back to her the memory of
something her husband had once said, with one of his grimly humorous
looks:--"Piper's a regular dog! If he'd been born in a different class
of life he'd have been a real Don Juan." She now asked herself very
anxiously how far a married Don Juan of any class confides in his wife?
Does he tell her his real secrets, or does he keep them to himself?
Judging by her own experience the average man who loves a woman is only
too apt to tell her not only his own, but other people's secrets.

Slowly she put the letter back in its envelope. She had gone to a great
deal of trouble, and even to some little expense, over procuring Piper a
really good situation. She had seen not only his new employer, but also
what she liked doing far less, his new employer's wife; and she had got
him extraordinarily good wages, even for these days. It was too bad
that he should worry her, after all she had done for him. As for his
wife--nothing would induce her to see Mrs. Piper. Neither did she wish
Piper to come down to Beechfield. She was particularly anxious that the
man should not learn of Godfrey Radmore's return to England.
Unfortunately Radmore was on the lookout for a good manservant.

She took up the other letter. It was a nice, prosperous-looking, well
addressed envelope, very different from the other. Perhaps this second
letter would contain something that would cheer her up. But alas! when
she opened it, she found it was from Mrs. Winter, Piper's late employer's
wife.

Poor Enid Crofton! As she stood there reading it, she turned a little
sick. Piper had got drunk the very first day he had been in his new
situation. While drunk he had tried to kiss a virtuous young housemaid.
There had been a regular scene, which had ended in the lady of the house
being sent for. There and then Piper had been turned out neck and crop.

It was not only a justifiably angry letter, it was a very disagreeable
letter, the writer saying plainly that Mrs. Crofton had been very much to
blame for recommending such a man....

Feeling very much disturbed she turned and came back towards her two
visitors. They were now deep in talk, having evidently found a host of
common associations: "I find I ought to answer one of my letters at
once," she said. "Will you forgive me for a few moments?"

They both looked up, and smiled at her. She looked so pretty, so fragile,
so young, in her widow's mourning.

She went through into the dining-room. There was a writing-table in the
window, and there she sat down and put her head in her hands; she felt
unutterably forlorn, frightened too--she hardly knew of what. It had
given her such a horrible shock to learn that Piper was married....

Taking up a pen, she held it for a while poised in the air, staring out
of the window at the attractive though rather neglected old garden, in
which only this morning she had spent more than an hour with Jack
Tosswill.

Then, at last, she dipped her pen in the ink, and after making two rough
drafts, she decided on the following form of answer to Mrs. Piper,
telling herself that it might be read as addressed to either husband or
wife:--

Mrs. Crofton is very sorry to hear that Piper has lost his good
situation. She will try and hear of something that will suit him. Mrs.
Crofton cannot see Mrs. Piper for the present, as she is leaving home
to start on a round of visits, but she will keep in touch with Mr. and
Mrs. Piper and hopes to hear of something that may suit Piper very
soon.

She began by writing "Mr. Piper," on one of her pretty black-edged mauve
envelopes; then she altered the "Mr." to "Mrs." After all it was Piper's
wife who had written to her, and she suddenly remembered with a slight
feeling of apprehension, that Mrs. Piper, for some reason best known to
herself, had not told Piper that she was writing. On the other hand it
was quite possible that the husband and wife had concocted the letter
between them.

Having addressed the envelope, she suddenly got up and ran up to her
bedroom. There she opened her dressing-table drawer. Quite at the back
lay an envelope containing four L5 notes. She took one of the notes,
and running down again, slipped it in the envelope and added a postscript
to her letter:--

Mrs. Crofton sends L5, which she hopes will be of use while Piper is
out of a situation.

She went downstairs, giving her letter, on her way back to the
drawing-room, to the cook to take out to the post-box.

As she opened the drawing room door, something which struck her as a
little odd happened. Her two visitors, the murmur of whose voices she had
heard in deep, eager converse while she was stepping across her hall,
abruptly stopped talking, and she wondered uneasily what they could have
been saying that neither wished her to hear.

As a matter of fact that sudden silence was owing to a kindly,
old-fashioned, wholly "ladylike" instinct, on the part of the two older
women. Miss Crofton had been talking of her brother's death, confiding
to Miss Pendarth her desire to learn something more as to how it had
actually come about. With what was for her really eager sympathy, Miss
Pendarth had offered to write to a friend in Essex, in order to discover
the name of the local paper where, without doubt, a full account of the
inquest on Colonel Crofton must have been published.

CHAPTER XIV

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, slipped away, and on Tuesday there seemed no
reason why Godfrey Radmore should leave Old Place. And so he stayed on,
nominally from day to day, settling down, as none of them would have
thought possible that anyone now a stranger could settle down, to the
daily round and common task of the life led by the Tosswill family. After
two or three days he even began to take command of the younger ones, and
Janet was secretly amused to see how he shamed both Rosamund and Dolly
into doing something like their full share of the housework.

In relation to the two younger girls, his attitude was far more that
of a good-natured, rather cynical, elder brother than was his attitude
to Betty. Into her special department, the kitchen, he seldom intruded,
though when he did so it was to real purpose. Thus, Dolly's twentieth
birthday was made by him the excuse for ordering from a famous London
caterer a hamper containing enough cold and half-cooked food to keep them
junketing for two or three days. Janet was rather puzzled to note that
Betty, alone of them all, seemed to look askance at the way Radmore spent
his substance in showering fairy-godfather-like gifts on the inmates of
Old Place.

The happiest of them all was Timmy. Most men would have been bored by
having so much of a child's company, but Radmore was touched and
flattered by the boy's devotion, and that though there was a side of his
godson which puzzled and disturbed him. Now and again Timmy would say
something which made Radmore wonder for a moment if he had heard the
words aright, but he followed the example silently set him by all the
others of taking no notice of Timmy's claim both to see and foresee more
than is vouchsafed to the ordinary mortal.

Miss Crofton had also stayed on in Beechfield, but only a day longer than
she had intended to do--that is, till the Tuesday. She and Miss Pendarth
had met more than once, striking up something like a real friendship. But
this, instead of modifying, had intensified Miss Pendarth's growing
prejudice against the new tenant of The Trellis House. She felt convinced
that the pretty young widow had made her kind sister-in-law believe that
she was far poorer, and more to be pitied, than she really was.

Life in an English village is in some ways like a quiet pool--and, just
as the throwing of a pebble into such a pool causes what appears to
create an extraordinary amount of commotion on the surface of the water,
so the advent of any human being who happens to be a little out of the
common produces an amount of discussion, public and private, which might
well seem to those outside the circle of gossip, extravagant, as well as
unnecessary.

The general verdict on Mrs. Crofton had begun by being favourable. Both
with gentle and simple her appealing beauty told in her favour, and very
soon the village people smiled, and looked knowingly at one another, as
they noted the perpetual coming and going of Jack Tosswill to The Trellis
House. No day went by without the young man making some more or less
plausible excuse to call there once, twice, and sometimes thrice.

It was noticed, too, by those interested in such matters--and in
Beechfield they were in the majority--that Mr. Godfrey Radmore, whose
return to Old Place had naturally caused a good deal of talk and
speculation--was also a frequent visitor at The Trellis House. Now and
again he would call there in his car, and take Mrs. Crofton for a long
drive; but they never went out alone--either Dolly or Rosamund, and
invariably Timmy, would be of the party.

As the days went on, each member of the Tosswill family began to have a
definite and, so to speak, crystallised view of Enid Crofton. Rosamund
had become her champion, thus earning for the first time in her life the
warm approval of her brother Jack; but Dolly and Tom grew rather jealous
of their sister's absorption in the stranger. Rosamund was so very often
at The Trellis House. In fact, when Jack was not to be found there,
Rosamund generally was. But she had soon discovered that her new friend
preferred to see her visitors singly. Betty kept her thoughts as to Mrs.
Crofton to herself--for one thing the two very seldom met. But Janet
Tosswill was more frank. With her, tepid liking had turned into dislike,
and when she alluded to the pretty widow, which was not often, she would
tersely describe her as "second-rate."

Now there is no word in the English language more deadly in its vague
import than that apparently harmless adjective. As applied to a human
being, it generally conveys every kind of odious significance, and
curiously enough it is seldom applied without good reason.

Mrs. Crofton had gentle, pretty manners, but her manner lacked sincerity.
She was not content to leave her real beauty of colouring and feature to
take care of itself; her eye-brows were "touched up," and when she
fancied herself to be "off colour" she would put on a suspicion of rouge.
But what perhaps unduly irritated the mistress of Old Place were Mrs.
Crofton's clothes! To such shrewd, feminine eyes as were Janet
Tosswill's, it was plain that the new tenant of The Trellis House had
taken as much pains over her widow's mourning as a coquettish bride takes
over her trousseau.

Janet Tosswill was far too busy a woman to indulge in the village game
of constant informal calls on her neighbours. She left all that sort of
thing to her younger step-daughters; and as Mrs. Crofton never came to
Old Place--making her nervous fear of the dogs the excuse--Janet only saw
the new tenant of The Trellis House when she happened to be walking about
the village or at church.

But for a while, at any rate, an untoward event drove the thoughts
of most of the inmates of Old Place far from Mrs. Crofton and her
peculiarities, attractive or other.

* * * * *

One day, when Radmore had already been at Beechfield for close on a
fortnight, Timmy drew him aside, and said mysteriously: "Godfrey, I want
to tell you something."

Radmore looked down and said pleasantly, though with a queer inward
foreboding in his mind: "Go ahead, boy--I'm listening."

"Something's going to happen to someone here. I saw Dr. O'Farrell last
night, I mean in a dream. You were driving him in your car through our
gate. Last time I dreamt about him Dolly had measles; she was awfully
ill; she nearly died."

As he spoke, Timmy kept looking round, as if afraid of being overheard.
"I don't mean to tell anyone else," he added confidentially. "You see it
upsets Mum, and makes the others cross, if I say things like that. But
still, I just thought I'd tell _you_."

Radmore was impressed, disagreeably so, in spite of himself; but: "Look
here, Timmy," he said chaffingly. "The Greeks have a proverb about the
bearer of ill-tidings; don't let yourself ever become that, old man!
Have you ever heard, by the by, about 'the long arm of coincidence'?"

Timmy nodded.

"Don't you think it possible that your having dreamt about Dr. O'Farrell
just before Dolly was taken ill may have been that long arm of
coincidence--and nothing more? I can't help thinking that probably your
mother said something about sending for Dr. O'Farrell--for people don't
get measles in a minute, you know; they are seedy for some days
beforehand--and that made you dream of him. Eh?"

But Timmy answered obliquely, as was rather his way when brought to book
by some older person than himself. "I think this time it's going to be an
accident," he said thoughtfully.

And an accident it was! Old Nanna, who, in spite of her age, had become
the corner-stone of the household as regarded its material well-being,
slipped on the back staircase, and sprained her leg, and of course it was
Radmore who went off in his car to fetch and bring back Dr. O'Farrell.

A slight alleviation to their troubles was brought about by Miss
Pendarth, who was going off on a visit the very day the accident
happened, and who practically compelled Janet to accept the temporary
service of her own excellent servant. It was her readiness to give that
sort of quick, kindly, decisive help which made so many of those who had
the privilege of her acquaintance regard Miss Pendarth with the solid
liking which is founded on gratitude.

But the help, offered and accepted in the same spirit, could not go on
for long, for Miss Pendarth came home after a four days' absence; and,
for the first time in many months, Janet Tosswill made time to pay a
formal call at Rose Cottage in order that she might thank her old friend.
She intended to stay only the time that strict civility enjoined, and she
would have been surprised indeed had she been able to foresee what a
pregnant and, to her, personally, painful train of events were to follow
as a result of the quarter of an hour she spent in Miss Pendarth's
old-fashioned upstairs sitting-room where only privileged visitors were
ever made welcome.

"Will you come upstairs to-day, Janet? I have something about which I
want to consult you."

And then, when they had sat down, Miss Pendarth said abruptly: "While I
was in Essex I came across some people who had been acquainted with Mrs.
Crofton and her husband."

Janet looked across at the speaker with some surprise. "What an odd
thing!" she exclaimed, and she did think it rather odd.

But Olivia Pendarth was a very honest woman--too honest, some people
might have said. "It was not exactly odd," she said quickly, "for, to
tell you the truth, I made it my business while there to make certain
enquiries about the Croftons. In fact, I partly went to Essex for that
purpose, though I did not tell my friends so."

The visitor felt rather shocked, as well as surprised. Surely Olivia
Pendarth's interest in her neighbours' concerns was, to say the least
of it, excessive. But the other's next words modified her censorious
thoughts.

"Colonel Crofton and one of my brothers were in the same regiment
together. I knew him quite well when he and I were both young, and when
Miss Crofton came to see her sister-in-law a fortnight ago, I offered to
make certain enquiries for her."

There was a touch of mystery, of hesitation in the older lady's voice,
and Janet Tosswill "rose" as she was perhaps meant to do. "What sort of
enquiries?" she asked. "I thought Miss Crofton was on the best of terms
with her sister-in-law."

"So she is; but she wanted to know more than Mrs. Crofton was inclined to
tell her about the circumstances--the really extraordinary circumstances,
Janet--concerning Colonel Crofton's death. And now I'm rather in a
quandary as to whether I ought to tell her what I heard, and indeed as to
whether I ought even to send her the report of the inquest which appeared
in a local paper, and which I at last managed to secure."

"Of course I know that Colonel Crofton committed suicide." Janet Tosswill
lowered her voice instinctively. "That poor, second-rate little woman
seems to have told Rosamund as much, and Godfrey Radmore confirmed it."

"Yes, I suppose one ought to say that there is no real doubt that he
committed suicide." Yet Miss Pendarth's voice seemed to imply that there
was some doubt.

She went on: "It was suggested at the inquest that the chemist who made
up a certain heart tonic Colonel Crofton had been in the habit of taking
for some time, had put in a far larger dose of strychnine than was
right."

Janet Tosswill repeated in a startled tone: "Strychnine! You don't mean
to say the poor man committed suicide with that horrible poison?"

Miss Pendarth looked up, and Janet was struck by her pallor and look of
pain. "Yes, Janet; he died of a big dose of strychnine, and the medical
evidence given at the inquest makes most painful reading."

"It _must_ have been a mistake on the part of the chemist. No sane man
would take strychnine in order to commit suicide. Besides, how could he
have got it?"

"There was strychnine in the house," said Miss Pendarth slowly. "When
Mrs. Crofton was in Egypt it was prescribed for her. You know how people
take it by the drop? A chemist out there seems to have given her a much
greater quantity than was needed, and in an ordinary, unlabelled medicine
bottle, too." The speaker waited a moment, then went on: "Though she
brought it back to England with her, she seems to have quite forgotten
that she had it. But _he_ must have known it was there, for after his
death the bottle was found in his dressing room."

"What a dreadful thing! And how painful it must have been for her!"

"Yes, I think she did go through a very dreadful time. But, Janet, what
impressed me most painfully, and what I am sure would much distress Miss
Crofton were I to tell her even only a part of what I heard, was the fact
that the husband and wife were on very bad terms. This was testified to,
and very strongly, by the only woman servant they had at the time of his
death."

"I never believe servants' evidence," observed Janet Tosswill drily.

"The Coroner, who I suppose naturally wished to spare Mrs. Crofton's
feelings, told the jury that it was plain that Colonel Crofton was a very
bad-tempered man. But the people with whom I was staying, and who drove
me over to look at the God-forsaken old house where the Croftons lived,
said that local feeling was very much against her. It was thought that
she really caused him to take his life by her neglect and unkindness."

"What a terrible idea!"

"I fear it's true. And now comes the question--ought I to tell his sister
this? Some of the gossip I heard was very unpleasant."

"Do you mean that there was another man?"

"Other men--rather than another man. She was always going up to London to
enjoy herself with the various men friends she had made during the War,
and the only guests they ever entertained were young men who were more or
less in love with her."

Janet smiled a little wryly. "There's safety in numbers, and after all
she's extraordinarily attractive to men."

"Yes," said Miss Pendarth, "there _is_ safety in numbers, and it's said
that Colonel Crofton was almost insanely jealous. They seem to have led a
miserable existence, constantly quarrelling about money, too, and often
changing their servants. On at least one occasion Mrs. Crofton went away,
leaving him quite alone, with only their odd man to look after him, for
something like a fortnight. Colonel Crofton's only interest in life was
the terriers which he apparently bred with a view to increasing his
income."

"They can't have been so very poor," said Janet abruptly. "Look at the
way she's living now."

"I feel sure she's living on capital," said Miss Pendarth slowly, "and I
think--forgive me for saying so--that she hopes to marry Godfrey Radmore.
I'm sure that's why she came to Beechfield."

"You're wrong there! She settled to come here before Godfrey came home."

"I'm convinced that she knew he was coming home soon."

Janet got up. "I must be going now," she exclaimed. "There's a great deal
to do, and only Betty and I to do it."

"I suppose Godfrey Radmore will be leaving now?"

"I hope not, for he's a help rather than a hindrance. He takes Timmy off
our hands--"

"--And he's so much at The Trellis House. I hear he dined there last
night."

"Yes, with Rosamund," answered Janet shortly.

Miss Pendarth accompanied her visitor down and out to the wrought-iron
gate. There the two lingered for a moment, and than Janet Tosswill
received one of the real surprises of her life.

"Colonel Crofton and I were once engaged. I went out to India to stay
with my brother, and it happened there. _Now_ we should have married. But
things were very different _then_. When my father found Captain Crofton
was not in a position to make what was then regarded as a proper
settlement, he declared the engagement at an end."

Janet felt touched. There was such a depth of restrained feeling in her
old friend's voice. Somehow it had never occurred to her that Olivia
Pendarth could ever have been in love!

"It must be very painful for you to have her here," she said
involuntarily.

"In a way, yes. But I suspected she was his widow from the first."

"I think that, if I were you, I would say nothing to his sister,"
observed Janet.

"Very well. I will take your advice."

She changed the subject abruptly. "Let me know if Kate can be of any more
use. She's quite anxious to go on helping you all. She's got so fond of
Betty: she says she'd do anything for her."

"We're managing all right now, and Godfrey really is a help, instead of a
hindrance. He actually suggested that he should do the washing-up this
morning!"

"That's the best thing I've ever heard of Godfrey Radmore," exclaimed
Miss Pendarth. "I sincerely hope--forgive me for saying so, Janet--that
there's really nothing between him and Enid Crofton. I should be sorry
for my worst enemy to marry that woman, if the things I was told about
her were true."

"I don't believe that he is thinking of her, consciously--" Janet
Tosswill spoke slowly, choosing her words.

"Of course she's making a dead set at him. But there's safety in numbers,
even here," observed the other, grimly. "I hear that your Jack simply
lives at The Trellis House. The whole village is talking about it."

Jack? Janet Tosswill felt vexed by what she considered a bit of stupid,
vulgar, village gossip. "Jack's the most level-headed young man about
women I've ever known," she said, trying to speak pleasantly. "If anyone
has fallen in love with Mrs. Crofton, it's our silly little Rosamund!"

CHAPTER XV

The morning after Janet Tosswill's call at Rose Cottage, Rosamund
followed her step-mother into the drawing-room immediately after
breakfast, and observed plaintively that it did seem strange that "Enid"
was never asked to Old Place. "We take anything from her, and never give
anything back," she said.

Janet, who had a certain tenderness for the pretty black sheep of the
family, checked the sharp retort which trembled on her lips. Still, it
was quite true that Rosamund had more than once been kept to lunch at The
Trellis House, and that on the day of Nanna's accident Mrs. Crofton had
issued a sort of general invitation to supper to the young people of Old
Place--an invitation finally accepted, at Betty's suggestion, by Godfrey
Radmore and Rosamund.

Janet admitted to herself that they did owe Mrs. Crofton some civility.
If the thing had to be done, it might as well be done at once, and so,
when Rosamund had reluctantly gone upstairs to do her share of the
household work, his mother beckoned Timmy into the drawing-room, and told
him that she would have a note ready for him to take to The Trellis House
in a few minutes.

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